Early Leave

Men and women hurry to the city market
where the sellers and buyers are busy
in business while I have my early leave
in middle of the day, in middle of my work.

No more loud or lousy words from me

for that is for me my Master's will
and hence I deal in whispers, murmurings
of heart, my speech and song into eternity.

Since I spent too many hours in the strife
let the flowers now bloom in my garden.
Though it is too early for blossoms to open
let the midday bees strike their idle hum.

Beyond that hectic strife of the good and the evil
it is now the pleasure of my playmate of the empty

days to draw my heart towards him, for I know not
why this sudden call and to what useless state.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 89

Henry Victor          19.11.2012

Release from the Rat Race

Bird songs rippled the morning sea of silence
and the flowers were merry by the roadside
with wealth of golden rays scattered through the rift
of clouds as we, unaware of these, raced on our way.

Singing no glad songs, nor playing, or smiling
or speaking, or bartering in the village
never lingering on our way, we quickened
increasing speed as limbs of the clock sped by.

The sun moved to the mid sky and in the shade doves cooed
as withered leaves danced, whirled in the hot air of the noon
and the shepherd boy drowsed, dreamed under the banyan
tree as I rested my tired limbs on the grass beside the water.

My companions with scorn laughed at me holding their heads
high as they hurried on never looking back nor resting
vanishing in the distant blue haze crossing meadows and hills
passing through strange and far-away countries.

All honour to you, the heroic host of the ceaseless path!
As I greeted scorn and guilt pricked me to rise, and I found
no response in soul giving myself up for the lost,
a glad humiliation in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart and I forgot the purpose
for, and the goal of my travel, surrendering my mind
without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last when I woke from my slumber, opened my eyes
I saw you standing by me, flooding my sleep with your smile!
Oh, how I had feared that the path was long and so tiresome
and the struggle to reach you was hard!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 48

Henry Victor          04.11.2012

Unending Time

Time is unending in your hands, my Master
and there is none to count your minutes
as days and nights pass and ages blossom
and fade like flowers even as you wait.

Centuries follow each other perfecting a small
wild flower and with us we have no time to lose
and having no time we must scramble and crawl
for a chance as we are too poor to be late.

It is time that goes by as I give it to every man
critically claiming it, while your altar is empty
of offerings to the last, and at the end of the day I rush
in fear your gate will be shut but to find yet there is time.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 82

Henry Victor          31.10.2012

Living Falsehood

Onetime I thought I could outdo
everyone else in the world both in wealth
and power amassing in my treasuries
the money due for distribution.

Soon sleep overtook me while I lay
relaxed on the bed that was not mine,
and on waking I found I was a prisoner
in my own treasure-house.

Then I said that it was my master
the Lord of this universe
that bound me a prisoner
binding me with unbreakable chain.

Now I realize that it was I who imprisoned
myself chaining my soul with falsehood,
the chain with unbreakable links that I worked
so hard to find at the end myself in its grip.

I had hoped my matchless power will hold
the world captive leaving me in a freedom,
and for this night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 31

Henry Victor          12.10.2012